Delsarte's Musical Compositions.
Delsarte paid but little attention to musical composition; still his
musical works prove that he would have succeeded here as elsewhere, had
he devoted himself particularly to the task.
To say nothing of six fine vocal exercises and a number of songs which
had their day, his "Stanzas to Eternity" were highly popular. A mass by
him was performed in several churches; but his "Last Judgment,"
especially, ranks him among serious composers.
This setting of the _Dies Irae_ is touching and severe; the melody is
broad, sombre, threatening; the accompaniment reminds one of the dull
rattling of the skeletons reassuming their original shape. One seems to
hear the uneasy hum of voices roused from long sleep.
One incident showed the importance of this work. Various pieces of
concerted music were being rehearsed one night at the church of St.
Sulpice, for performance during the solemnity of "the work of St.
Francis de Xavier." A close circle formed around the musicians; private
conversation added a discordant note to the harmony; the church echoed
back the footsteps of people walking to and fro.
The _Dies Irae_ came! The music at first imitates the angel trumpets
which, according to Christian belief, are to be heard when _time shall
end_. The summons sounded four times.
This mournful chant of reawakening generations instantly silenced every
voice and every step; all were motionless; and the solemn melody alone
soared to the vaulted roof.
A touching story is told of this work. At a large and miscellaneous
gathering, M. Donoso-Cortes, a well-known Spanish publicist, then
ambassador to Paris, begged Delsarte to sing his _Dies Irae_. A space
was cleared in the music-room.
The score of the symphony for voice and piano, made by Delsarte himself,
retains all his intentions and effects, to which his striking voice
added greatly.
Delsarte began:
"Dies irae, dies illa,
Solvet saeclum in favilla,
Teste David cum sybilla."
The whole assembly were taken captive. M. Donoso-Cortes was particularly
moved. His eyes filled with tears. He was not quite well that night.
A week later the newspapers invited the friends of the illustrious
stranger to meet at St. Philippe-du-Roule, to witness his funeral rites.
Delsarte was present; the church was so hung with black that the
choristers were alarmed for the effect of their motets.
The artist recalled the request made him the previous week by the
Spanish ambassador. He felt as if that same voice came from the bier and
begged him for one more hymn to the dead. In spite of his emotion, he
offered to sing the _Dies Irae_.
To obviate the lack of resonance, Delsarte sang--according to his theory
in regard to the laws of acoustics,--without expenditure of sound,
almost _mezza voce_.
No one was prepared. The listeners were all the more overcome by those
tones in which the friend's regrets pervaded, with their sweet unction,
the masterly diction of the singer.
When his oldest daughter grew up, Delsarte seemed to take a fancy to a
different style of composition. He would not give that young soul the
regular repertory of his pupils, all passion and profane love. He wrote
for Marie words and music--couplets which were neither romance nor song;
nor were they quite canticles, although religion always lay at the base
of them.
I know none but Madame Sand who can be compared to Delsarte in variety
of feeling and simplicity even unto grandeur. I have often observed a
likeness and, as it were, a kinship between these great minds. And yet
these two great souls, these two great spirits, never exchanged ideas.
The artist never received the plaudits of the distinguished writer. Both
regretted it.
Delsarte said: "I lack that sanction," and Madame Sand wrote, when he
had ceased to live: "I knew Delsarte's worth; I often intended to go
and hear him, and some circumstance, beyond my control, always
prevented."
The world owes a debt to Delsarte for collecting under the title
"Archives of Song," the lyric gems of the XVI, XVII, and XVIII
centuries. And also the songs of the Middle Ages, the prose hymns and
anthems of the church, arranged conformably to the harmonic type
consecrated by the oldest traditions.
"All these works," he wrote in his announcement of the work, "faithfully
copied, arranged for the piano and transposed for concert performance,
will finally be arranged and classified in separate volumes, to suit
various voices, ages, styles, schools, etc., thus affording subject
matter for a complete course of vocal studies."
I do not think that death allowed Delsarte to complete this vast plan,
but it was partly finished. In the collection, we find the scattered
treasures of an eminently French muse: old songs picked up in the
provinces, in which wit and naive sentimentality dispute for precedence.
All this still exists, but who can sing as he did the song beginning: "I
was but fifteen," or "Lisette, my love, shall I forever languish?" and
so many others!
To explain the inexpressible charm which distinguished Delsarte from all
other singers, a songstress once said: "His singing contrives to give us
the _soul of the note_. The others are _artists_, but _he_ is _the
artist_."